I never realized how much I took my kids’ good health for granted. We’ve managed to skirt by most flu seasons with barely as much of cold.

Sometimes they’ll get a little cough for a few days, or get a bad runny nose, but fevers have been a rare occurrence.

I guess it’s made me a little overconfident in some ways. I don’t worry about them catching things. I mean, we still use good handwashing techniques and all that good stuff, but I’m not paranoid about them getting sick from other people, or crazy with the sanitiser gel.

Suuuuure, your sick kids can play with my kids. No biggie. A few germs never hurt anybody… (There probably some exceptions to that).

Anyway, the downside to their awesome immune system is that when something does go down, I start to panic. All those new-parent paranoia feelings start to go back and I begin to question everything.

A couple days ago our son came down with a stomach bug. The first time he threw up I thought maybe it was his breakfast.

Two cinnamon waffles, popcorn and Powerade may not have been the best combination.

He was crying and didn’t want me to put him down. I could tell he wasn’t feeling well and I tried to rock and sing to him. Normally singing helps. Just as I got to my second round of Wheels on the Bus, he puked all over me.

It was so gross. Then he had the nerve to look at me and say “YUCK!” and begged me to put him down. He wouldn’t let me touch him until I changed my shirt and showed him I was no longer covered in his vomit.

I did my best to clean up and spray random carpet cleaners to get as much red powerade out as I could but I eventually gave up and texted my husband to be prepared to run the carpet cleaner when he got home.

My daughter was upset because I had told her we’d go to the children’s museum that day.

Secretly I was a little glad for the change of plans because it was pouring rain and the weather wasn’t as good of an excuse as a sick brother. She understood and said she’d help me take care of him, while occasionally having her own meltdowns because of all the attention he was getting.

After I cleaned Big T up I put him down for a nap. He seemed to be feeling better. But when he woke up crying an hour later I brought him into my room to lay in bed with me.

He barfed all over me again.

And again, he didn’t want to be bothered with me and all my grossness.

I stripped us both down and got a bath ready. It took a lot of convincing to get him in with me, but eventually he caved. Again, my daughter was upset that she wasn’t getting the same attention, but she did a good job of cheering her brother up.

When we got out of the tub I dried off, grabbed his new shirt (tags still on cause I’m so very smart) and pulled him out of the bathtub. Two steps into my bedroom he looked at me and puked again.

“YUCK! YUCK! YUCK!” My son said whining and looking at me. How dare I carry him while I’m covered in gross?

I about-faced and put him right back in the tub. He was happy there in an empty tub for a good twenty minutes.

I felt so bad for him, and was finally crossing the line of “aww, poor thing” to real concern.

My husband came home a short while later and I was in my fourth or fifth outfit of the day. I didn’t bother adding a bra or unnecessary accessories I’d have to take off and wash at any moment.

“Has he eaten anything?” He asked me.

“Not really since this morning. He had a big breakfast, and he’s been throwing up everything since then.”

“Well we don’t want him to get dehydrated,” my husband said.

“I know, I was thinking we could get some Pedialyte,” I sounded confident, like I totally knew what I was talking about, thanks to Facebook and Twitter to responses to my sick kid post. It had not even been 12 hours and he was barely starting to run a low grade fever, so I wasn’t too worried just yet.

A neighbor was sweet enough to lend us her bottle. They had just gotten over a stomach bug.

My husband tried to act like he wasn’t phased by it all. Normally he’d be gagging at the thought of vomit, but so far he was keeping his cool.

“This is like nothing compared to what I deal with at work,” he told me.

“Suuuuure,” I said, just as sarcastically as it sounds.

“No really,” he tried to convince me. “He could just throw up all in my face and I’d shower in it like it’s no big deal.”

I laughed at the thought because that had basically been my reality all day.

“Alright well you can hold him after he drinks this stuff.” I said.

As we worked on a gameplan for getting liquids inside our son my husband told me his idea.

“Ok, we’re going to try this. You just get into your bathing suit, so if he throws up again, you’re ready.”

“So I’m ready? I thought it was your turn! You don’t mind bathing in the stuff remember?”

“I was just kidding!”

Kidding about which part?

We tried a small amount of Pedialyte diluted in a bottle. And poor Big T snuck in a pretzel before we could hide them. It didn’t settle well in his tummy.

“Uh oh!” My husband said from the kitchen.

I looked over at him as he looked at our son, knowing what was about to come. And then I heard a waterfall hit the floor. My husband’s face twisted in disgust as he jumped back from the table.

“Don’t just stand there pick him up!” I cried.

I could see the hesitation on his face, but his fatherly instincts or something like that kicked in and he picked Big T up.

As I walked over to grab him, he looked at me and said “yuck!”

“Yes, it’s yucky baby,” I said. But he didn’t want me to hold him.

“He definitely has a correct understanding of the word,” my husband said.

I could tell we were both reaching the point of concern we’ve fortunately rarely come to as parents.

“Check out his mosquito bite,” my husband said as he held our son. We had noticed it yesterday. “What if he has Malaria?

Oh jeez, we’re so pathetic. I thought

Meanwhile poor Lil’ J was severely upset by the lack of attention she was getting, and all of the extra focus on her brother.

So many questions about loving him more than her, and what else are we going to to todays…

I owed her a day. I knew that much. And I silently wondered if families with three kids have less of his dilemma. Do two kids play together while one is sick? How does that work?

We tried another dose of Pedialyte without the water and pretzel and it stayed down before bed. My husband rocked him to sleep and got up with him the next morning. The next day there were no incidents, and yesterday he was totally back to normal. Trying to dive off the couch and sneak out the back door.

“Man, it was easier when he was sick,” my husband said.

Meanwhile my mothering confidence took a hit. I thought my frantic Googling days were long gone with infancy, but it looks like I’m in this for the long haul.

You never stop worrying about your kids. Sometimes it just takes a couple showers in their puke to remember that fact.

Do your kids get sick much? Do you handle it like a champ, or like a wimp?

PS: The next day I took Lil’ J ice skating for the first time. She had time time of her life and no longer feels like the forgotten child.

{Big T is currently 2 years and 2 months, Lil’ J is 4 years and 10 months.}